Indian Summer, or Not

We're due for a warm spell this week, and yesterday's weather was so beautiful -- sunny with temperatures that were just about perfect. A red admiral butterfly returned to the garden, settling on our verbena, and Dave and I watered plants and mowed the lawn.

I was going to write that we were having an Indian summer. Is that term racist? Dave and I were wondering. I found an interesting article on Slate about its origins, and the authors acknowledged it has a rather colonial flavor. They proposed calling it "second summer" instead.

Although Indian summer is the North American name, apparently in Europe that second summer is called other things, often after a saint (depending on whose feast day it falls near) or "old wives' summer."

But in any case, I guess this can't be an Indian summer, because they occur in autumn. And technically, until Sept. 22, it's still just summer. So I'm getting ahead of myself.

While we worked in the garden, Olga lay amid the ivy and irises beneath the camellia bush. She's so funny. I've never known her to lie in that spot but I guess the shade appealed to her.

When I walked her later, there were tons of people out on the high street, sitting in all the cafes. I think every table was full. As usual, my iPhone shot doesn't quite capture how busy it was -- partly because all those people on the left are hidden by a planter.

New rules come into effect today specifying that people in England can't gather in multi-household groups larger than 6 people. Our Covid-19 numbers have been climbing, so this is an attempt to nip that in the bud. Maybe people were getting their socializing in before the tighter restrictions? (Of course that rule doesn't apply to schools, so it will be work as usual for me!)

Olga and I came across several large stands of sunflowers on some nearby streets. Pretty impressive!

I attempted another plant rescue -- some ferns I saw in a rubbish skip in front of a neighbor's house. I guess they're clearing their garden. The ferns had roots attached, so I grabbed them and planted them behind our garden bench. We'll see if they survive, and if they don't get dug up by foxes. (We have a hydrangea back there that the foxes keep excavating -- I suspect it was grown using bone meal, which, as we've seen, the foxes love.)

Oh, and Dave used our beans and peppers to make vegetable soup that we ate this weekend. He thought it was bland, but I liked it.